Salem
by Sydy
Summary: The year of 1692 was a bad one for Alfred. It was the year of the witch hunt and Alfred learned quickly how easy it was for people to turn on each other when things went wrong. As the hunt for witches continued it became more and more dangerous for Alfred to be out among his people, but where else was he supposed to go?


**Hey. I'm back with another one. This one is on the village of Salem in 1692.**

The village of Salem was small. In the year of 1692 eight young girls fell ill. Parents, doctors, and ministers alike scrambled to find the cause of their sickness and cure it. When no one could find the cause of their affliction supernatural causes were blamed, thus spreading the hysteria of witches invading Salem and holding the girls captive with their powers. Alfred did his best to limit the use of the magic Arthur had been teaching him and kept himself hidden from the people of Salem and their accusing voices.

Alfred sent this message to Arthur when the paranoia started: :

Arthur,

How long are you going to be staying in England? The people here are starting to call each other witches now. There's some girls who are sick and the doctors told everyone that witches cursed them. I know it's not true but no one else would believe me if I tried to tell them. I don't know what made them sick but I know they aren't cursed. I don't know what to do now. I think they are starting to believe I'm a witch too because I won't agree with them at court. I think they plan on killing them... I don't think I'm safe here anymore... I heard some of the older people talking about how I never seem to age. I don't know what to do right now. Can you just hurry up and come back? Please... I'm scared, big brother.

-Alfred

The message would take at least nine weeks to reach the Englishman who promptly excused himself from his duties in England and prepared himself to return to the colonies. The journey would take another seven weeks to arrive to the mainland about a week more before Arthur would arrive in Salem in time to watch the hanging.

It was late afternoon on a cool day in June when it happened. Alfred was walking home with a bag of groceries as was custom on Mondays. He heard her scream first then her cry for help. He started running down the dirt road, dropping his groceries in the process. He stopped in his tracks when he came upon a young couple. The man was standing over the young girl as if ready to push her back down if need be. Alfred could see a thin line of red tracing its way from the girl's nose and around the curvature of her mouth, a bruise was already beginning to form on her jaw. Alfred didn't think twice about running the last few feet to the girl. Dropping to his knees the young nation started to ask if she was okay until the man's knee connected with America's head and sent him toppling over.

"Stay out of this," a deep voice told him. He could hear the heavy skirts of the girl rustling as she tried to crawl away from the man. "Where do you think you're going, witch?"

"I'm not a witch! I don't know why you keep saying that!" her voice called, shrill with fear and pain.

Alfred shook his head to clear the stars from his vision and pushed himself up. "Leave her alone," he said, pulling the man back from her. He hoped the girl would take the chance to run and hide herself.

"I told you to stay out of this," he said, yanking his arm free from Alfred's grip and curling his hands into tight fist. Alfred ducked, avoiding the man's fist. He caught a glimpse of the girl still on the ground watching the two of them with wide green eyes.

"Get out of here!" he shouted at the girl dodging another blow and swinging at the man. His fist connected with his jaw. The two men fought back and forth though the fight favored that of the man who was taller and clearly more skilled in the art of fist fighting. A last blow connected with the side of Alfred's head and sent him to the ground. No time was wasted from the initial blow to a few kicks being aimed at his ribs and a last kick to his head until the man was sure Alfred wouldn't be getting up again.

The sun was just beginning to peek shyly over the horizon when Alfred woke up again. His head throbbed when he pushed himself up but other than that his bruises had faded and any cuts he had were closed up now, leaving faint scars where the skin had once been split open. He winced, standing up and rubbing a hand against his head, blinking away the dizziness before he started his walk back home to clean himself up.

Alfred's first mistake that day was going out. He had barely been in town for an hour before the man from the previous evening saw him. His second mistake was not running and hiding himself away after the encounter.

The streets were soon filled with the man's shouting and pointing at Alfred, telling the story of their fight and how he was sure Alfred had been dead or would be after how badly beaten he was when he left. The man himself had dark bruises around his eye and jaw and was clearly finding it painful to breath. Alfred was tired and sore from the fight but any visible evidence of the evening had healed over the night. Alfred took a few steps back, cursing to himself when he saw his own people turning and looking at him in fear. He never thought a look could hurt so much but seeing the people who had brought him life and made him who he was staring at him with so much hate, anger, and fear sent a sharp pain through his chest. He backed himself up further and felt strong hands wrap around his biceps and hold him firmly in place. Panic flooded through his veins and sent him struggling against the strong grip of the stranger. He cried out and pleaded with them to stop when a fist connected with his chest and a knee collided with his stomach, knocking his feet out from under him and sending the air rushing from his lungs. The hands left him, sending him falling forward to his hands and knees.

The cries of hate from his people filled his ears. Shouts about locking him up and hanging him with the other witches floated through his mind as his body was beaten once more by a group of men. His cries of pain were drown out by everyone else and soon fell silent as he was beaten to the ground. He was losing himself, his mind on the edge of consciousness when the blows to his battered body finally stopped and he was yanked once more to his feet. He felt himself pushed forward and heard a voice behind him directing him to walk. Alfred stumbled before catching his balance. A hand gripped his collar tightly and pushed him toward the sheriff's office. He saw the cell door open and knew what was happening before he felt a final shove forward; he struggled to catch himself as he clumsily stumbled into the cell and fell against the back wall, doing nothing to pull himself to his feet. Alfred struggled to catch the words of his accusers from his cell.

"It will be a few days before we can get him in for a trial..." the sheriff said, straightening a stack of papers on his desk.

"He doesn't need a trial. We all heard what Edmund said! He's a monster. He needs to be hanged! It's not safe to keep him alive long enough for a trial," a voice argued back.

"It's the law that he be tried, Nathaniel," the sheriff argued back.

"It's your job to protect the people of this village! You don't know what he's capable of. He could be cursing all of us right now and we wouldn't know it. There's a hanging tomorrow. You could easily add a noose and get rid of him. We both know how a trial will go. The whole town was there. We all want him dead," Nathaniel shouted back, gesturing wildly at Alfred's cell.

Alfred winced at his words, realizing Nathaniel was right. The whole of Salem Village wanted him dead now. They all believed him to be a witch, which was technically true but he didn't curse people or do anything to harm them. He sighed softly, sitting himself up against the wall and gingerly lifting his shirt to look at his bruised stomach and ribs.

"...I'll have a third noose made and bring him out tomorrow." Alfred heard a moment later. He froze and started at the bars of his cell silently and with wide eyes. He was going to be killed by his own people, he thought to himself.

Alfred didn't sleep that night. He sat staring at the bars of his cell in the darkness of the night wondering what would happen the next day. At some point he must have dozed off because he was woken to banging on his cell door.

"Get up! It's time to go."

"Go where?" Alfred asked, blinking groggily and slowly pushing himself up and crossing the small cell.

"To the gallows. There's a hanging and you're the star of it," he replied, looking at him with a twisted grin. He turned back to his desk and grabbed a set of old keys. Alfred watched him walk back and unlocked the cell. "Try to escape and your death will only be more painful."

Alfred gulped and nodded slowly. Similarly to the previous time, his cuts and bruises were mostly healed up by now, leaving him sore and tired but otherwise fine. His hands were tied behind his back before he was allowed out of the cell though the thought of staying in it was more appealing than where he was taken. Alfred was paraded down the dirt roads as people eagerly mingled out in the streets in hopes of seeing a witch being marched to their death. There were even more people gathered in front of the gallows. A dull roar of conversation filled the air with excitement. The gathered crowd fell silent with Alfred's escorted approach and men and women alike craned their necks in a twisted sort of hope of seeing the man they hated so much. Alfred averted his gaze to the ground and watched the rocks pass under his feet until they became wood steps, and he slowly climbed up them. He looked up and out at his people when he was stopped half way across the platform. He looked over at the two people who would be dying on either side of him. There was the lady from the previous day and another woman whom he didn't know. He sighed sadly and looked back at the crowd.

A noose was brought over his head and tightened where it would hold firmly to his neck when he dropped. His eyes widened when he spotted a pair of green eyes watching from the back of the crowd.

"Arth-" his cry died when the platform dropped beneath him. His body hung lifeless from the end of the rope.

Arthur's hand clamped over his mouth, strangling a gasp before it could be heard. Tears filled his eyes and he backed away from the cheering crowd. He felt sick. The whole scene made his stomach turn and bile rise in his throat.

He remained at the gallows for a long time, watching Alfred's body dangle from the rope between two women. When the spectators had been long gone leaving Arthur alone in the night he slept approached the platform and climbed the steps. The wood creaked and groaned with each purposeful step he took. Arthur by passed the first body and stopped behind Alfred's rope. He looked down at him sadly and carefully pulled him back on to the platform before removing the noose from the younger nation's neck. Arthur blinked back tears and traced the dark bruises that laced around Alfred's neck. He stayed like that, cradling Alfred's body against his chest and whispering soft apologies.

Arthur knew Alfred would wake up again in a few hours now that he could breath but it didn't change or lessen the blow of watching the people of Salem kill him. When he was able to collect himself again he lifted Alfred in his arms and carried him home in the cover of the night. When the American woke up and was well enough he would discuss moving him further away from the horrors of those in Salem but for now the comfort of home would have to do.

Alfred was changed and placed in bed, the covers drawn around him. Arthur took a damp rag and gently cleaned Alfred's face, lightly dabbing the rag on his bruised neck. When Alfred was cleaned up a chair was dragged across the room and Arthur positioned himself next to the bed.

Arthur was asleep when Alfred finally woke up, screaming his name. "Arthur!" he screamed, jerking upright. His throat throbbed with the sudden use and his hands flew up to his neck, grasping at it in a blind attempt to remove the noose from his neck.  
Arthur jumped, being pulled from his sleep. He saw Alfred and immediately moved in front of him. He did his best to maintain a calm demeanor as he took Alfred's hands in his own and pulled them away from his neck. "Alfred, it's okay… It's all over now. I'm here, they won't hurt you again." He spoke calmly.

Alfred stared at him with wide blue eyes that had filled with tears. He nodded slowly, moving to embrace Arthur tightly. Arthur sighed softly and wrapped his arms around him. "It's going to be okay, Al... They won't touch you again. I'll protect you."

"They're my own people... They're part of me but they hate me..." he mumbled into Arthur's shoulder.

"They're scared of what they don't understand, Alfred... That's all it is... They don't understand what's happening so they find something to blame it on and you happened to fit it. It'll pass and everything will go back to normal. I promise you."

"What do I do now?" he asked after a minute of silence. Arthur could feel his shaky breaths and the warm tears that dampened his shirt. He shook his head and rubbed soothing circles into his back.

"I'll help you move away from here... You'll have to keep hidden for a while until everyone stops talking about witches... I'm sorry, Alfred. I should have protected you better," Arthur hugged him tighter. "You're too young to have been through that."

 **The which hysteria was started after a young girl began experiencing fits and violent contortions. Shortly after being diagnosed with 'bewitchment' by a doctor several other girls began exhibiting similar behavior. In total 19 'witches' were hanged, 1 man was pressed to death after refusing to confess, and as many as 13 may have died in prison (Sources conflict on the numbers of death in prison).**


End file.
